A Man on His Own
by Green Mile Merc
Summary: An autobiography/résumé of Erron Black. He recaps his life's story as he goes from boy to man, not only through age, but through the hardening experiences that he had to go through to become a bounty-hunting mercenary.
1. At The Beginning

...

Forward

My girlfriend wanted me to write this story because she feels I can relate well to the character. I think I can manage not to screw it up.

...

As of late, all of my employers have been asking me to hand them my "résumé", like a man of my qualifications, never mind my profession, should require such a thing. In fact, I find it downright insulting to ask me for a list of everything I've done, every head I've ever turned into koins.

It makes me sick to think that these morons want me to leave a paper trail, basically an admission of guilt, for all the crimes I've committed against mankind. Well here it is anyway, my résumé for all of you idiots that wanted it.

But if I'm going to admit all the nasty deeds of my past, then I'm doing it right. You're just going to have to sift through my life's story if you want to know what I've done, how it can help you, and my motivations, blah blah blah. Consider this a confession, an autobiography, a résumé, or whatever fits the billing.

Back in the year of 1827 or so, some shit-head by the name of Isaac Black made the mistake of sticking a certain part of himself into another shit-head named Elizabeth Marsh, and about a year later, they got me. The shotgun wedding was on the coldest day of December, or so I was told, which is an odd way to put it, seeing that what's now called Nevada doesn't get that cold as I recall. Anyway, the wedding was far before I could remember, but I was told that I attended it. Just not by anyone's expectation.

My mother always used to laugh about me 'deciding' to be born right in the middle of the wedding. I didn't find it so funny, as that meant I was born to begin with, and to those wastes of space no less. A few 10 or so years go by, and my father was nowhere to be seen. My mother told me he had been shot just days after they wed, but if I had to take a wild guess, I'd say that she was the one who pulled the trigger. She always talked about how he was a smart ass, and how I reminded her so much of him, but the way she'd say it was like she was remembering something darker than quick wit and a sly tongue. Like she was remembering he escape from her own personal hell, in the form of a metal slug to his head. Or was it his chest…

Either way, at the time, I always wondered how it must have felt. She was always a nut case, but the strength it must have taken to end someone's life, especially her own husband's. I would never know that particular feeling of course, but I soon found out that ending a life for the safety of your own is easier than one may think. That year on my birthday, I opened a gift wrapped up in the finest of bottom of the barrel, probably-used-as-wiping-paper news print you would have ever seen, but would have never wanted to. What was in this hideous wrapping, however, was the greatest gift I have ever, and probably ever will receive in my life.

At the age of fifteen, I had since developed the skill to use my trusty six shooter, which I called the "Momma's Boy", to a pretty remarkable degree. I could juggle a can in the air, and with enough practice, I was able to reload a couple rounds between the first six and shoot it with nine total rounds before it hit the ground. Those days are far behind me, as I can now hit it with two whole chambers, or twelve for the slow children reading.

Anyway, it was early in the year, and the sun was setting on a mild March evening. I had for the first time juggled a can with ten rounds, and I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Seeing as I had only one last bullet, and probably wouldn't be getting more for a while, at least until I could save up for more, I decided to call it a day. I packed up my canteen, my six shooter, my lunch sack, and I saddled up on the old family horse of ours, Lucy.

Before I could start riding, however, I heard a shot coming from almost directly behind me. Lucy got startled, and bucked me off. She started to gallop randomly away from the gun fire, but she was shot down before she got far. I, on the other hand, quickly grabbed my weapon from the ground, after it had been bucked out of the saddle bag. I scrambled in my pocket for my last round, making sure to keep low to the ground to stay under the patch of dried grass that I had landed in. I quickly, yet clumsy, loaded the bullet into the chamber. I pulled back the hammer, and pointed the gun out, scanning the area for the person, or people, who had gunned down old Lucy. I saw but one man alone, yelling on about something. He sounded drunk, which was to my advantage. I pointed my gun at him, aimed straight for the head, and pulled the trigger.

Having never shot from the ground at that point, I also never accounted for the vast distance between me and the drunkard, so the bullet drop put the round square into his chest. He went down, but not without firing one last round at me. The pain I felt that day, having my cheek blown right off of my face, was not only one of great physical pain, but it scarred me mentally as well.

I screamed in agony, clutching my wound with my free hand. Wanting to seem like I was in control, which I still sort of was, I decided to compose myself, and point my gun at the man as I walked cautiously toward him. My heart was racing, and I got so excited that I almost started to forget that my face was bleeding.

As I got near, I put both hands on my gun, the usual teacup grip one would use for a revolver, and I pulled back the hammer. I was hoping he'd be too drunk and distracted to notice that I had no ammo in the gun. He held his hands out in front of him, begging me not to kill him.

"Who are you?" I spoke, assertively, but calmly. I knew that yelling, or acting angry would only serve to humanize me, and having your enemy think you don't act human is a good way to keep them on edge. Especially when they're drunk and manipulatable.

"Is… Is that you, Err'n?" he asked, blood spilling from his mouth.

Seeing as my name was Benjamin, I'd never heard of this 'Erron' guy, but I amused the idea for a moment.

"And what if I am?" I asked him, keeping my errily straight tone for a teenager who had just been literally partially defaced.

"Son, my na-" he coughed, and more of his blood spat from his mouth, spraying onto his face, his chest and the ground around him. "Son. My name is Isaac Black. I'm yer daddy."

My eyes widened, and my charade of acting distant from emotion was for not. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Why the hell would you shoot me if I'm your son!?" I yelled, demanding to know how he could be so foolish.

"Son, I'm pretty drunk, and I-" more coughing, and blood. "I thought you were your mother. I couldn't see from the distance, but you're wearing her cloak…"

It was true. I was wearing a cloak that she had given me a while prior. A red one that I have been keeping alive by stitching new material to ever since I got it. In fact, it's hard to tell whether any of it is original or if it's all been replaced since then.

"Why do you want my mother dead so badly?" I asked him, calmer than before. This man was dying, and even though he had a convincing case, I still wasn't positive he was my father just yet. Keeping the upper hand where possible was a top priority.

"Kid, if she's told you anything about me, she's told you that I'm dead. But she probably never mentioned she tried to kill me."

It was just as I had guessed. Well, other than the fact that he was still alive, that is. Thoroughly convinced of who I was talking too, I lowered my weapon, and a kneeled down to him. I put my hand under his head to support it.

"Son, could you help me take one last drink?" The way he asked me this was so nonchalant. Like he was asking a friend for a favor, not at all like he was asking his long abandoned son for a final request. I did as he asked, and helped him by slowly pouring some of his whiskey into his mouth. He almost coughed it out, but was able to get it down.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"What is it, son?" he replied.

"Why did mother try to kill you?"

His eyes were closing slowly, and I could tell that I wasn't going to get an answer from him. I decided not to make him think of it while he was passing.

"Never mind, that's a dumb question. I'm sorry that this happened, dad."

"Son," he said. "You're mother couldn't kill me, but you know what? I wouldn't have it end any other way." He choked a bit on his blood while saying "I'm just glad… glad that I got to see you all grown up…"

His eyes, now fully closed, I felt his head and body go limp. I put him down gently, and whispered to his corpse "I'm glad I got to meet you too, dad." I had assumed he was dead, but I swear even to this day that as I said that, a small grin formed on his face. The sun was down now, and it was getting cold. I figured I'd have to take care of him, so I got what I could out of his personal satchel, and I buried him where he lay.

Middle of the night, no food, and a long way back to town. Hole in my face, no horse to help carry my things, some ammo and a new gun that was just like my other, the one I call the "Father Figure". Last, but certainly not least, I was no longer Benjamin Marsh, but now Erron Black. My mother had some explaining to do.

...


	2. Live Fast, Die Maybe

So I know I said previously that I was born in what is now Nevada, but I have to admit this was a lie. Not a lie from me, per se, but a lie that I had grown up assuming, as my mother had told me I was born in the house she raised me in. At this point in time, however, I was about to learn just how much she had lied about, and this was one of those things. Oh, and the coldest day in Texas isn't exactly what most would consider 'chilly' to be frank.

The sun was setting, my shirt was now a facial bandage, and I had just covered my late father in all the sand I bothered to dig. This was honestly not a lot considering my injury being a gift from his gun. I picked up the saddle bag, and started to walk off from where I came. I looked back for a second, and noticed the hat which my father had dropped when I shot him. I went back, picked it up, dusted it off and put it on.

A little big, but I knew just as I would grow into it, it would grow on me. It was conveniently outfitted with a bandolier type outfitting, which for those less involved with gun trivia, that'd be what a layman would probably end up calling a 'bullet-belt-thing, but-on-my-hat-instead'.

"Thanks, pa." I said, turning back to try once more the desert walk back home. I walked by Lucy, and put my new hat to my chest as I passed. She was a horse, but a trusted assistant nonetheless. Walking home was pretty uneventful, but I saw a raven, or maybe a crow flying in the direction from which I came. Typical that the ones not willing to do the dirty work take the spoils from those taking initiative. I took a round from the belt inside my hat, loaded in into the chamber, and cocked the gun.

"If you eat anything that I ever kill, I'll end you in one shot." I said to the winged creature. A threat I didn't realize I'd said to all of it's kind. It seems, however, that no matter how far away from their natural habitat I travel, they always seem to follow. They especially like the targets that I put a hole through their face, but I digress.

Finally making it back to town in the dead of night, I heard the voice of my mother yelling at some poor townsman who knew nothing of what she was saying. To be honest, years of listening to my mother is the only reason I could understand her, but it's something I wish I could go back and change sooner. What this man was hearing was probably nothing more than drunken racial slurs and gibberish, but I heard her real words.

"Have ya' seen ma' son? BENJAMIN!" She was yelling directly into this poor gentleman's face, and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the sight. But I decided to step in before total hearing loss.

"Ma. Ma! I'm right here!"

"Benjamin!" She yelled, nearly killing the man trying to run through him at me. He scrambled to his feet and fled the scene.

"I got a bit caught up. But I'm fine." I knew she'd pretend to care about what I had been up to and about my face, but if I answered her question before it was asked, she usually let it go. But this time was the time I asked questions, and she wasn't going to be able to avoid them.

"Well…" she paused as if she had suddenly caught on to my trick, but soon let out a drunken belch.

"Ma, let's just getcha home, okay?" I said, and guided her back to the house. I normally don't feel very nervous about confrontation, but when it came to my mother, and especially what I'd recently heard about her, I had no Idea how I was going to start this clearly difficult conversation. But I had to do it anyway. We eventually reached our house about a mile or so away from town.

"Mother, why is it that a guy claiming to be my father just shot me in the face and then told me all about what you are?" No, no. That'd be too upfront. I tried something else.

"Ma, what the fuck is wrong with you?" It's like my mouth forgot that I was trying to be more discreet, not less.

"Benjamin! What did you just sa-"

"Mother, don't call me that. I know that's not my name." I laid my cards on the table, which if you've ever played poker, is not a great idea. However, I could also think of it as blackjack, in which it's normal for everyone to see your hand. Yeah, let's go with that one.

"What are ya say'n, Benny?" She acted confused, but she wasn't so good at acting. Just at lying, or at least when I wasn't in on the lie that is.

"I think you know exactly what I'm saying," I said this as I started to pull out the gun I got from my now dead father, "and I think you've got something to tell me, right?"

"W…" she stopped, as if she was trying to think very carefully about how to lie further. "Well, I just. Ben, I gave ya that gun years ago."

"Mother, you know damn well whose gun this is, don't you!" I whipped out the Mama's Boy to accompany my Father Figure. Both fully loaded, I felt empowered. The shakes I had been feeling slowly turned to excitement stronger than I'd ever felt. Finally, I was here, confronting the woman who caused so much pain, confusion, and misdirection in my life, rather than letting it continue for even a moment longer.

"Benny, I was gonna tell ya everythin', I swear!"

"You sure as hell were takin' your sweet time with it, huh?" She understood that she had two guns in her general direction, but she didn't know the danger she was in yet. I could tell by the way her evil mind was trying to desperately to come up with an escape. She wasn't getting out alive, but the truth sure as hell was. Whether or not she was in one piece.

"Benny. I swear to ya, I don't know anythin' of what yer talkin' 'bout."

"Mother, I will not hesitate to cause you as much pain now as you ever have me. You may not understand what that means now, but if you don't start talkin'," I cocked both weapons in my hands, pointed them at her face, and asked very calmly- "you understand that you will soon enough, don'tcha?

She noticeably swallowed in fear, and parted her mouth just enough to seem as if she was about to speak. It took her a bit of time, so I decided to help her along with a gunshot to the ceiling.

"I implore you start talkin' or the next one won't be pointin' to your god."

"Okay, Benny-"

"Erron," I interrupted, "Call me Erron."

"Wh-where did ya hear that name?" She asked. It'd be a fine question if she didn't know the answer already. I was at that point that I decided I was completely finished listening to her playing dumb. So I shot her in the leg, right above the knee.

"Ahh, gawd damn it!" She yelled in horror.

"So it's okay to take your lords name in vain if it's a colloquialism, huh?" I wanted to make the best out of a good situation, so I threw in my humor. I wasn't even sure if that was a proper use of the word, but how would she know?

"Boy…" she tried to sit up, but the hole in her leg was certainly giving her some challenge in that department. "Boy, I don't know where ya keep get'n these fancy words of yers, but ya best be not-" I shot her other leg, as close to a mirroring injury as the angle she was at would let me. She let out another scream.

"Ma, I reckon you aren't in a great position to be talkin' down to me." God, I was starting to sound like her. So I used that in a more mocking sense. "Ma, if y'all wants tuh talk crap tuh me, y'alls gunna gots ta…"

I stopped as the pure stupidity of my own actions were killing me on the inside. "Look, you just better start talkin'. Who was my father? Where was I born? What's the name my father gave me? Anything. Start, now!"

"He wanted y'all tah be Erron Black, his last name. His _precious_ daddy's name." So the old man was right, huh? Now I knew without a doubt that it was all true, not that I had much doubt before.

"And where was I born?" I asked, cocking my left hand weapon, the Father Figure again. She threw her hands up in front of her defensively, as if they'd stop a bullet or two.

"Alright, alright…" she took some time to lean up against the nearby wall and breathe for a second. I cocked the Mama's Boy.

"You were born in Texas…"

"The Republic of Texas? I'm a freakin' Texan?" Huh. I hadn't known that before, and my father failed to mention it. That must be where he came from, but how'd he go all that distance on his own? It certainly explains him not being in my childhood, and his tired drunken demeanor. Well being drunk may have been a different story, but he shot worse than if he was just drunk.

"So let me guess." I had a final string of questions for her. She didn't know that, but I was pretty sure by that point. "You took me as a child where he wouldn't find me because my father didn't want to leave, and you disagreed with the name he wanted for me."

"How…" she seemed to be getting weaker. Blood loss, shock, and drinking will do that you you. "How'd you know all that?"

"Because he told me my name was Erron Black, not Benjamin Marsh. He had different plans for me, and you couldn't handle him taking responsible control. What was it ma, was he better at parenting than you, but you didn't want me to grow up noticing that?

"Benny, I."

"The day you took me away from him was the day you proved he was a better parent. Tell me, was he always a drunkard, or just when he lost his son?"

"Benny, I don't know what to say."

"That's what I thought." I opened fire, cocking and pulling, each bullet tearing into her like coyotes into steak. Each one was like a little bit of childhood onset torture lifted off of my shoulders before the guns stopped making blasts and started clicking with each hammer hitting empty blast caps. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to stop trying to fire after being empty, but no one was around to see it, unless I didn't know about it.

It was done. I don't remember exactly how I felt about it, but now I'm certain I made the right choice. At face value, I'm sure that 'killed both my parents' isn't a great resume, but when you become a professional murderer of men, you start to realize people find it as a token of your true dedication to your career, even though it has nothing to do with that.

Either way, it days to come, I started to wonder how I was going to support myself. I was only fifteen after all. But in less than a week, I was confronted by an Asian man with stereo-typically accurate facial hair down to his chest. He was wearing the kind of clothes that you'd see now in a 'Kung Fu' movie, or something equally ridiculous for the time and place. Either way, he approached me with an offer.

"I've seen what has happened to your parents, young Marsh," he said.

"Please, it's Black. Erron Black."

"Very well," he continued. "I have seen what you have done, and I can't say that you were wrong for what you did.

"How do you know that?" I asked him.

"Consider me to be a… guardian angel of sorts." His voice hissed like a snake. "I know your past, and I can see your future, assuming you join me." He paused and his menacing grin was only outdone in eeriness by his graying hair and unusual facial hairstyle. "And I have an offer I don't think you can let slip away, my young friend."


	3. Once Upon A Time In The Republic

"Listen old man, I'm not a fan of people telling me what I can and can not do, or what I will or will not do." I replied. His face still seemed certain.

"What if I told you that you could live longer than any human person ever has," he was a fan of dramatic effect. Pausing, he walked around behind me to my other side, put his arm around my shoulder, and with a wave of his other hand finished with "or ever will?" The man said.

"I'm assuming you've already got that one mastered." I said with a bit of snark. His expression, still smug and determined, only changed with a bit of feigned worry. It was then that it was brought to my attention that his eyes were milky white, but he was clearly not blind. Before I could finish my thought, he interrupted it.

"I see," he said, retracting his arm and moved forward a bit, "I guess I'll just take the secrets of eternal life somewhere that it will be appreciated. I'm sorry to have wasted your time." He started to walk away, but his movement was so fluid, it was almost like he was floating above the ground. That would be ridiculous. But his robe didn't move with the motion of his feet. Maybe he was floating?

"Okay," I called to him. "You've got my attention." He turned around and returned faster than he had moved to walk away. He was desperate for whatever he saw in me, I knew that much. He brought his arms out from his cloak and revealed a book of some kind. It was beautiful, red and gold designed almost exactly how his robes were. I was intrigued.

"This tome has the answers to questions and the secrets that mankind has been looking for ages to find," the man said. "My name is Shang Tsung, sorcerer of The Outworld, proud server of the great Shao Kahn."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, or if I even want to." This was starting to sound like the ramblings of a senile old man who was taking his fictitious book too seriously. I would know, my mother did it with the so called 'Good Book'."

"I can sense you think me untrustworthy. I assure to you that I am not, as you are thinking, senile."

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

"I can take many things from others, their thoughts, fighting ability, youth…" he paused in another very creepy dramatic suspense. "Their souls." He lost me with that one.

"Rrright. Well, I'm just going to find… something else to do. Somewhere else." I turned to walk away.

"Very well, young Black, but remember my name. I will be seeing you in the future."

"For your sake, let's hope not." I walked away with no further interruption or resistance, but I could feel his cold stare and wide grin on the back of my head.

I had been on my way to the gunsmith's shop in town. I went and picked up a few new toys: Two new holsters, higher quality than the saddle bag, and more convenient too; A high quality face mask to cover the wound on my face, and the mask supposedly stretched to fit my face for as long as I'd live; Some leather armour that was a bit too big for me, but that I'd grow into hopefully; and a couple of bandoliers to carry my ammunition.

Unfortunately while leaving, I realized the bullet loops on the bandoliers were for a higher caliber bullet than my forty-four caliber rounds, and the rounds I had would just slip through. I didn't try to dispute the transaction as it was my mistake, but I figured I'd save up my money in the future for a weapon that it could hold the ammo for.

Nearing my house, I saw a group of men surrounding it. Three of them. I didn't know what they wanted, or why they were there in a group, but I was going to find out.

I pulled my guns from their new holsters, payed for kindly my my late mother, and cocked them. I was far enough away to keep them by my side and to not bring attention to them. "Gentlemen!" I called to them, hoping for some kind of surprised reaction. That's exactly what I got as they all jumped a bit. "How's it going?" I asked.

One of them spun around and returned with "Get away from here, this is our bounty!"

"A bounty, huh?" What bounty. My mother? Me? I replied with "I never heard of any bounties around these parts." At least, not for a long while.

"Yeah, yeah. You just get out of here, young lady. This is a man's work." Sexism and ageism were the ultimate insults in those days. I use them to try to get to people, but I don't think it makes much difference being young, old, male, or female. Just as long as you can shoot straight. Sometimes, I forget that men aren't always insulted by comparison to women anymore, but I notice that being called out for younger age seems to imply a lack of skill and experience.

My hair was long at the time, longer than it is now, so I wondered if he thought that I was really a woman, or just trying to get to me. So I slightly heightened the pitch in my voice, and used a southern drawl. "I heard that a li'l boy and his mammy lived here once. Y'all fellas know 'bout that at all?"

"Ma'am, I'm tellin' yuh, yer gonna want to stay back. When this home's boy get's back 'ere, it's gonna get ugly." So it was a bounty on my head. Must be they found out about my parents. That was my queue.

Returning my voice back to normal, I replied, "You're damn right it is." I opened fire and shot the speaker, but noticed that at the distance, my left arm was severely lacking accuracy and precision. I had only just acquired a second weapon for my left hand to fire after all, so I hadn't practiced much.

I decided to holster the Father Figure for now, and use the hand to cock the hammer on the Moma's Boy instead. When I did that, the other two were down before they even turned around. One had reached for his holster, but the other didn't seem to have one.

"Bullseye." I holstered my weapon and walked in toward them. Headshots on the last two I hit, but the man I'd been talking to was still alive. He wasn't armed, which I found funny. Did he really think that he, without a weapon, was going to take me alive, fifteen years old or not, when I had just killed both of my own parents?

"How'd... why'd" He was struggling to breath.

"It's funny," I said, "to see you try and talk with a forty-four in your lung. Did you really think you'd take me without some kind of weapon?"

"But… you can't be…" he said, still gasping for air.

"Erron Black. You can call me that, assuming you have the time.

"But… t-the boy we-" he was interrupted by a blood soaked cough.

"Benjamin Marsh," I finished his thought for him, "I know. That's the name my mother tried to brand me with." I kneeled down, and opened up his vest. He had a rolled up paper in the pocket, which I took out. I stood up, and opened the paper to reveal my face, the word 'Alive', and-

"A twenty dollar bounty!? Really?" Apparently everyone underestimated me. And these guys were going to sneak up on a fifteen year old for twenty dollars? "Pathetic."

"It's what they… thought… you was worth…" his eyes started to get heavy, I could tell.

"I wasn't talkin' about the bounty," I said, wielding the Mama's Boy. Without looking away from the paper, I pointed the gun at his head and said, "I was talking about three guys who would split twenty dollars to kidnap me." I fired a round into his right eye. It seems like the angle wasn't enough to kill him right off, as his hands shot up to grip his head while he screamed.

"Why would… you-" he stopped, went limp and died. All I can think now is that he must have gone into shock. Either way, I was going to find the sheriff and ask him about my twenty dollars, but not before I checked the pockets of all of the freshly dead gentlemen. The two I killed first were armed.

They must have been for intimidation, but the guns were loaded. I pulled the guns out and put them near the bodies to make it appear that they drew their weapons. That way if anyone came across the scene, it would look like I was defending myself, which I was, and not a crime scene. I turned to leave, but thought about the last guy being unarmed. So I reloaded my Father Figure, and planted it in his vest pocket where I had found the poster. I took my empty holster off my waist, and put it on the man that didn't have a holster.

I later arrived at the sheriff's office in town, and walked in without warning.

"I'd like my bounty, please." I demanded, slamming the poster on the desk.

"Holy shit, boy. You nearly gave me a damn heart attack!" The sheriff was a mid aged gentleman, around forty-five years or so. Thinking back to when I saw the man who called himself 'Shang Tsung', I remember thinking at that time that I couldn't get a read on his age. That was an odd thought, as I normally was within three years of the correct age every time I guessed one, but his escaped me.

"Sorry, sir. I just wanted to turn myself in." I figured twenty dollars was at most a night in jail, maybe a free meal. "I've got a staggering… twenty dollars weighin' down on my conscious."

"Son, I just wanted to bring you in for questioning." Huh, so they didn't know that I killed them? That could be interesting. "Do ya know anythin' 'bout a couple'a bodies we found in the desert t'day?"

"Sir, that could be just about anywhere." I said this trying to sound as unknowlegeable as possible. I guess it worked.

"You're right, I'm sorry." He stood up from his chair, walked around his desk to a liquor cabinet, and opened the door. "A long time of doing this job, and you start to forget that not everyone involved with each case knows everything about them." He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and a glass.

"There were some men at my house, sir." I mentioned. "Just earlier, they were there to kill me, I think."

"Really. They had guns?" He started to pour his drink. This seemed easier than it should have been.

"Ye'sir." I was pretty sure that he was convinced. Nothing they had on them made me think they worked for or with him, and they were hunting the bounty, so I figured he might not know who they were.

"How many did you say there were?"

"I hadn't gotten to that, but there were three, sir." I paused to consider my options as he drank from the glass. "I could bring you there, if you want." He finished his drink in one go.

"Sure thing, boy. I'd like to see these men." At this point, I wasn't sure if he was on my side, or theirs. He walked over to a gun rack and pulled down a repeater rifle. It was a nice looking weapon. "Alright, boy. Let's get to it."

We walked to my house, and it was about mid day at this point. The men were still as I left them, which was a relief. The sheriff walked up to the guy I had killed last.

"Damn, son. That's a ruthless kill." He sounded more impressed than disgusted.

"I wanted to ask him why they were here. The other two came in, so I shot them."

"So why'd it take two shots for this'n, but just one for the each uh the other two?" He asked with suspicion. Easy answer.

"I wanted him to talk, but all he said was 'fuck off' when I was trying to ask why they were here. He reached in his coat." I pointed to the vest pocket with my gun in it. "So I shot him dead." The sheriff kneeled down and opened the man's vest to reveal my gun in there. The sheriff shouldn't have known that it was mine, so my plan seemed to be working well.

"Well you're one lucky sonofabitch, boy. I'll give you that one." He stood up, and turned to me. He reached out with the gun pointed at the ground, facing as if he wanted me to take it. "This weapon looks a lot like the one around your waist, boy. I think it's only right that you take it." I was confused, and a bit worried shit just hit the ceiling.

"Sir, should a sheriff really be repossessing items from the dead?" He gave me a smile.

"Son, you killed them in self defense. In my eyes, what was theirs is now yours." He kneeled down at the other corpse with my holster. "Looks like he got this one at the local gunsmith, kinda like yours." He stood and held out the holster for me as well. At that moment, I figured he knew what happened, but I don't think he knew why.

"Did these men kill my ma?" I asked him just to test the waters, but I was almost certain the charade was up.

"Son, I found your mama out in the desert by another gentleman. I... " he paused. He knew who he was, but he didn't know I did too. "It was your daddy, boy. She came here with you when you was young, and there was nothing I could have done for you, but believe me I tried." He knew I killed them, but more importantly, he knew more about my history. I had to know.

"You… Know what happened then."

"You killed your parents boy, I know it. But you didn't know it was your daddy, did ya?" He didn't wait for an answer, as he was pretty certain. "I saw you at the doctor gettin' your face stitched up, so I knew you had been hit. You killed him in self defense." He paused. "I don't even think he knew it was you before it was too late." A tear formed in his eye. "As for your mama, she…"

"She was a bitch." I said it without thinking. I didn't expect that to bode well, but to my surprise, he nodded in agreement.

"She shouldn't have taken you from your daddy. He was a good man, and he'd've been a damned good daddy to ya."

"You came from Texas too, huh?" I asked him assuming that's how he knew my father.

"Son… I knew your father well." He was almost in a full cry, but he took in a shaky breathe.

"How did you know my pa?"

"He and I were good friends back in the day. Kid, I don't know if you want to hear what I have to say."

"Sheriff. If you have to say it, you have to say it." I reassured him. It was the least I could do to let him say what he had to, considering I was pretty sure he was helping me get away with my mother's murder. The rest were self defense, and he wouldn't have done anything about them, but my mother's death was in cold blood. Besides, I needed to know more about my past.

"You sure, boy?"

"You don't know if I want to hear it or not until I do." He took in another, longer shaky breath, and then let out a sigh.

"Son, I knew your father in the biblical sense." That was sort of a surprise, but I thought it more interesting he put it that way, considering every pastor I'd ever heard ramble about their bullshit talked down to his kind.

"You really loved him, didn't you?" I asked. Who was I to judge? Hell, he should be furious with _me_ , I killed the man he was in love with. But he understood why it happened, so I think that's why he didn't show his anger if he had any.

"Your father and I wanted to have a kid, boy. But as you may well know, we couldn't do that on our own." I understood everything now. They were all victims of circumstance, and I was stuck just in the middle.

"So he married my mother to have a kid, and he was gonna take me away from her?" I asked it calmly, but I needed to know if they were the reason my mother was so crazy.

"Son, he chose the craziest woman in the Republic he could find. Took her to bed with little issue, and made you." The details could have been spared, as I knew how I would have been made. "When you was born, and he told her she was too crazy-"

"That was part of the plan? For her to be unfit?" I interrupted him, as it was important to me to find out whether it was her that was crazy, or them. He sighed again.

"It was. He liked the company of men and women, but he loved me the most, or so he said." He stopped for a minute. "I'm sorry if I've said too much."

"Sheriff, I'd rather hear it all than not hear anything."

"Well," he continued "Isaac, your daddy, chose the girl with the prettiest face, and the craziest head so that he could separate from her without too much guilt. She didn't know about us, but we were gonna move away with you. It's just that she did it first when she found out." He wiped tears from his face.

"So how did you get here without my father?" It was the only question I had left.

"When she was at the station, you in hand, and a fistful of dollars, she boarded the train before he could get there. I was chasing her, but I couldn't stop the train before it left." He hesitated, almost like he was about to say his darkest fears. And he did. "I could only look out the window and watch as he fell to his knees and cried." That was probably the saddest thing I'd ever heard up to that point, and I lived my life.

"I'm… so sorry." I was more so apologizing for taking away his lover than for the story, as that was the part I was involved with. He turned to me, handed me the twenty dollars from the bounty, and started to walk away. Then he stopped. He turned back to me and pulled out the rifle he was carrying on his back, sling and all, and handed me the whole of it.

"It's not your fault son. I just hope you find your way in life." Turning away again, he added "If you ever need a place to stay, son, just find your way back home. Ya hear?" It was an offer I never took. I needed a new place to live, a new start, and in the moments to come, I found it.

I put on the new rifle sling, secured it well and started to walk in a random direction. I took out the poster with my portrait and tore it up. I thought about it for a second. As I was hooking on my holster and putting the Father Figure in it's rightful home, I knew from that point on that the men I just killed gave me more than the money and ammo in their pockets and a picture of myself. They gave me a way of life.

"Hey sheriff!" I called to him. "Do you have any more heads you need collected?" I'd be a hired gun. A bounty hunter.


End file.
